


The restless hawk

by Angstosaur



Series: After the duel [2]
Category: Lord John Series - Diana Gabaldon, Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Sex, The Scottish Prisoner, discussion of past rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:28:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24676927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angstosaur/pseuds/Angstosaur
Summary: After Jamie has brought John home from the duelling field, he withdraws into the library at Argus House, leaving the care of his friend to family and physicians. That is until Minerva Grey asks him a favour. Over the course of the night sitting with a delirious John Grey, both men discover more about each other and their feelings as truths and long held secrets are revealed.The Tag for 'Past Rape/Non-con' refers to past events, mostly canon, no graphic details, but events that have affected both characters and their relationship to one another.
Relationships: Jamie Fraser/Lord John Grey
Series: After the duel [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1784176
Comments: 94
Kudos: 151





	1. The request

“Fraser – I need you to me a favour. That is if you can be bothered to shift your large Scottish arse from that chair.”

Looking up to see the Duchess of Pardoe standing in the doorway, hands on hips, scowling at him, reminded him so much of his sister, that Jamie cheekily responded by wriggling his buttocks into the soft leather seat.

“It is a verra comfortable chair. What is it, Minerva – can ye nae see I’m reading?”

“You’ve been staring at that same page since I stepped into the room and I happen to know that you can read a lot faster than that. And, what’s more, I doubt that even you would be obtuse enough to choose to read a book upside down.”

Jamie chuckled and conceded. He had grabbed the book as soon as he had heard the door to the library open, hoping to be left in peace with his thoughts as he gazed into the smouldering fire. He put the book down on the table next to him, folded his hands in his lap and looked up to his old acquaintance.

“Aye – ye were no’ a spy fer nothin’. What is it I can do fer ye, lass?”

The Duchess took the seat opposite Jamie and fixed him with her unflinching gaze.

“There’s a reception at one of the embassies tonight. Apparently it requires the attendance of both the Duke and Duchess of Pardloe. Although I would rather stay here, I am told that we need to present a united front to quell any rumours surrounding that damn duel.”

Jamie shifted uncomfortably, having been present when the challenges were made in the gentlemen’s club he was all too aware of the nature of those rumours, which concerned both his Lordship and himself.

“Aye, I can see that would be a task for diplomacy. D’ye ken if there’s any news of Twelvetrees?” asked Jamie, wondering how the man could possibly have survived that final parry from Lord John.

“Oh, there’s plenty of news – some of it may even be true. There is talk of his remarkable recovery, not to mention the death of my dear brother-in-law. However, my preferred sources inform me that the damn man has finally died and is in the process of being dissected by the nefarious Doctor Hunter.”

Jamie shuddered as he recalled the promise he had made to John not to let that man lay a hand on him should he die as a consequence of that duel.

“I’d trust yer sources above all others, Minnie – and I’ve never seen a man get up again after takin’ a blade to the belly that went all the way through tae his spine.”

They shared a look that spoke of what neither of them wished to say out loud – that it could very easily have been John who had taken the fatal blow. Sabres were sharper and more penetrating than the hefty claymores used by the Scottish rebels and could easily slice a man open if wielded by a good swordsman. 

“Well, back to my request.” Minnie paused, making it clear that it was not a request he was at liberty to refuse. “We need someone to watch over John whilst we are out.”

“Why no’ let wee Tom Byrd do that?” asked Jamie, wondering why this had not occurred to the Duchess. “Ye ken he’d be as happy as a pig in muck to sit and stare at his master fer hours on end.”

“Oh yes, the boy is devoted I give him that and I shall have him placed on standby in case of any emergency. If need be, he can run for the physician. But, if it cannot be either me or his brother, it is you that I want you to sit with John.”

Jamie sat forward, detecting something beyond concern in the woman’s voice. She had never been one for sentimentality or fretting, so he knew there had to be a serious reason for her request. Since he had helped bring John home, the family had closed ranks and kept everyone away from the injured man. He himself had to rely on the reports he got from Tom Byrd – and those were not first-hand accounts but derived from gossip below stairs.

“Why? Is he nae doing sae well?” probed Jamie– wondering if perhaps his friend was at death’s door.

“No better, no worse than expected,” shrugged Minnie. “But-“

“But what?” demanded Jamie, suddenly put on alert.

“It’s the wound to his chest. It has become infected – and, no, it was nothing you did wrong!”

Minnie had caught the sharp intake of breath and the widened eyes of the Scotsman and reached out to reassure Jamie. She had smelt the brandy on the cloth pressed to John’s chest when he’d been brought home and she knew who had placed it there.

“It was that wretched doctor digging the tip of the blade out of the bone. I have seen fish filleted with more due care taken of the flesh around the bone. To call these men butchers is an insult to those who have more talent- ”

“Will he be alright?” interrupted Jamie, looking more concerned than ever. He had seen for himself how much damage had been inflicted, so close to the heart and had been concerned at the time by how much it had bled.

“I hope so, for the sake of the physician alone. If he dies, I am not sure who will get to him first – Hal with a pistol or me with a vial of poison.”

 _“Or me, with a knife in the dark,”_ the promise bubbled up to the surface and it took all that Jamie could muster to keep it silent.

“It is the fever that worries me most – he has become quite delirious. For much of the time he sleeps, but when he comes close to consciousness he mutters to himself, much of it nonsense from what I have heard. However, amongst the ravings of delirium are utterances that we cannot risk being overheard, for both his safety and the security of the family. I need someone I can trust to sit with him-“

“And ye trust me?”

“I have had cause to in the past and regardless of what Hal may believe, John trusts you.”

“More fool him then,” snorted Jamie, thinking of a multitude of reasons why Lord John Grey should not trust him, not least of which was the temptation he had nearly heeded to leave the man to die where he had fallen on the duelling ground.

“You do not fool me, Mr Fraser. Remember, I see what others do not – and I saw the way you were when you brought him back to us. You care for him more than you would ever admit, probably even to yourself. Even that puppy of a valet can see it.”

Jamie opened his mouth as if to protest, but the Duchess raised her elegantly shaped eyebrows a mere fraction of an inch and dared him to try to deny what she had observed.

“If he should die, it will have been for your sake. Do not disgrace your honour or his by daring to deny the truth in that. Sit with him.”

It took a strong woman to chastise Jamie Fraser and he found himself adding the Duchess to that list of strong women in his life.

“Aye then, seein’ as ye put it like that, I’ll watch over him.”

“Good. I shall ask the cook to provide you with an early supper and then have you informed when we are about to leave.”


	2. An awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Jamie watches over John, he learns of something they have in common - and this revelation brings about a change in how Jamie understands the complex feelings the two men have for one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are references to - but no details of - sexual assaults in the past. These events are cannon and they are referenced here yet not described. However, this may be upsetting to read for some people.

Jamie had seen more men recovering from injuries than he could recall, but even he was taken aback by the state that John was in – he looked far worse than he had when they had fetched him home. His skin was mostly pale and clammy looking, his hair come loose from the ribbon someone had used to tie it back- lank strands lay across the pillow. His left arm was in a sling – Jamie did not even remember an injury to his arm. The tangled sheets were stained with faint streaks of blood where the restless patient had tossed and turned, pulling on the stitches no doubt. The bandages around his chest were also stained – his Claire would have been dismayed at the sight of them.

“What the hell?” demanded Jamie, pointing at the dressings. “Has nae one been to tend to those today?”

“The doctor, this morning,” explained Minnie. “Other than that, no-one has been in here today apart from Hal and myself. Hal will not allow any of the servants in for any longer than it takes to remove soiled bedding and to provide fresh water. He refuses to risk any chance they may overhear his brother’s ramblings.”

“What is it that you don’t want the servants to overhear?”

“You know how it is – the fever loosens the tongue and lets secrets loose that should never be cast abroad.”

Jamie looked from Minnie to John and back again.

“But surely they all ken-“ he started to whisper, assuming she was talking about John’s personal inclinations.

“They know enough not to ask nor to question. John has always been very discrete and there’s never anything disclosed that anyone could use against him, despite that scoundrel Twelvetrees’ slander. But – well, you’ll see.”

“Aye – I reckon I will.”

Jamie took a chair and pulled it close to the head of the bed.

“Can ye at least send someone up with fresh cloths and more clean water?”

“Of course – but it was not my intention that you should nurse him-“

“I cannae sit here and not provide the same comfort I would any man suffering pain from such wounds.”

_Especially one whose wounds were received on his behalf._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was an hour or so later, after Minnie and Hal had set out from Argus House, that John began to stir.

“Hector – hold on, please.. for me… please do not abandon me… not now … you said … you promised me…”

Jamie’s attention was drawn to the way in which John was twisting the ring he always wore – the one set with a sapphire that he had never seen John without. He was becoming more and more distressed, despite Jamie holding a damp cloth to his forehead to cool the fever.

“Hector? Are you there? … Hold me… please…” John was reaching out, desperately grasping as if to grab hold of something, or someone. He started to become more frantic as his hands closed on thin air. “Take me with you… I beg you…”

Throwing the cloth to one side, Jamie stood up and leaned over John. He took hold of him by his shoulders and firmly pressed him down into the mattress, attempting to hold him still to prevent further damage to his stitches. Rather than calm the man down, it appeared to distress him even more and he flailed wildly, kicking out and dislodging the sheets that fell to the floor in a crumpled heap.

“No! Let me go – dammit – no! He’s waiting for me!”

Fearing that John would struggle so violently that he would throw himself out of the bed and onto the floor, Jamie rolled him over onto his side and held him from behind, his arms folding over John’s chest, pinning his arms to his sides to keep him from harm. Or so he believed.

John stilled immediately, frozen – but far from calm. Jamie could sense the tenseness in his muscles, could feel the tremor in his limbs.

“Do not speak his name…we were …. No, I beg of you, please not that … god no... please… no…no … beat me if you wish, but not that, for the love of god, please don’t … ”

As John’s head thrashed from side to side on the battered pillow, Jamie saw tears springing to the man’s eyes. He immediately fell back, releasing his hold. John’s face crumpled and, no longer restrained, he began to curl in on himself as if fending off an attacker.

Jamie felt physically sick, his stomach turning as he realised what memories he had inadvertently triggered that were taunting John in his delirium. He was recollecting an attack – one that had made him beg for mercy. There was only one type of attack that he knew of that would have a soldier pleading for a beating instead. An assault he was personally familiar with – and that thought alone had him reaching for the porcelain bowl by the side of the bed and heaving.

Testing his suspicions, Jamie leaned across to gently touch John’s arm and the violent flinch in response confirmed his fears.

“John – it’s alright, ye’re safe. Ye’re at home in yer bed and there’s nae one here who’d wish ye harm.”

Not for the first time, Jamie lamented his inability to sing in tune – he had witnessed many an injured soldier put at ease by the lilt of an ancient melody, himself included.

John sobbed out loud and buried his head in the pillow. As the tremors ceased, he succumbed to an uneasy sleep once more.

Opening the window to vent the reek of his own vomit and the stench of the putrid dressings he had left by the door, Jamie took a deep breath of fresh air.

No wonder Minnie had not wanted Tom Byrd to sit with John. Jamie could deduce the ‘what’, but he wished he knew the ‘who’ and the ‘when’. He also found himself dealing with his own prejudices – it seemed that he had ignorantly assumed that all sodomites were cut from the same cloth and that in all circumstances they would enjoy their perverted practices, but what had been done to John had scarred him inside – had hurt him.

He wondered if the physical pain had been as bad as he had suffered at the hands of Black Jack Randall. There were differences – he had consented, albeit under duress, whereas – from what he had just overheard- John had not. They had both been forced against their will and had been traumatised. Jamie wondered why on Earth John would continue to seek out that which had harmed him – unless it was as Claire had tried to explain to him as he had been recovering, that any form of intimacy without consent was abhorrent, whilst intimacy mutually agreed upon – however rough or decadent – should not be disapproved of.

Turning away from the window and the sounds of carriages in the distance, Jamie rang the bell to summon someone from the household. He was not surprised when Tom Byrd knocked on the door within moments.

After handing over the bowl and the soiled dressings to John’s faithful valet, Jamie opened the door enough for the man to see that his master was sleeping peacefully.

“I’ll take good care of his lordship, dinna fash, wee Tom.”

“I know you will, Mr Fraser – if there’s anything you want, just call for me.”

“Thank ye. Maybe a bottle of whisky and a glass?” Jamie had looked around the room and found none to hand. “Is there a book that John likes to read? One I could maybe read to him?”

“Whisky is no problem. As for books – he has a liking for those French novels. You know the sort, very bawdy by all accounts. Not that I’ve ever read any of ‘em.”

“Aye – I know the sort,” replied Jamie with a smile. He knew exactly the type of risqué novel that Tom was describing. “Dinna fash - I can read and speak French well enough. After all, it’s no’ much of a hardship, no’ after what he has suffered.”

“That’s true enough I s’pose,” admitted Tom. He pointed at the bedside cabinet. “You’ll find the books he likes best in the bottom drawer, under his handkerchiefs. He thinks I don’t know they’re there, but I know everything.”

Giving Tom a knowing wink, Jamie nodded and closed the door. It seemed as if the valet really did know everything.

Jamie found a number of slim, well-thumbed volumes tucked away, including copies of Prévost’s ‘Mémoires et aventures d'un homme de qualité’, the editions that he knew had been banned in France. He noted with a sly smile that John had managed to get hold of a copy of an original 1731 version, complete with scandalous descriptions of all sorts of amoral behaviour.

He turned the pages of a copy of ‘L’Histoire du Chevalier des Grieux et de Manon Lescaut’ and wondered whether a story involving sacrifice, a duel and doomed love was really the most fitting tale with which to regale his friend. Although he could understand why the hero would appeal to John – a wealthy young aristocrat who turns his back on his family for love.

“Ye wee romantic – I do hope ye dinna choose yon hero to emulate.”

He thought back to the discussions of French novels with John back at Ardsmuir and the books that John had brought for him to read at Helwater. Why had he not seen those actions for what they were? Not manipulations, nor bribes, but the gestures of friendship, with no demands.

Jamie was only too aware of John’s feelings towards him, he had never kept them hidden. Jamie knew he had railed against them, repugnant as they were to him. But, he wondered, had he focused so much on the mortal sin of sodomy – which would separate a man from his God - that he had failed to appreciate the honourable affection on offer?

As he turned the slim volume in his hands, Jamie thought back to the officer’s quarters in that grim place, sitting in front of a peat fire, when John had reached out and clasped his hand and gently stroked his knuckles in a wordless tentative question, asking if he, too, desired a physical connection as well as friendship. His gut clenched as he recalled his reaction – he had threatened to kill John, and he had meant it. At that point in time, if John had not removed his hand, he would have snapped his neck and accepted his due punishment. John had not sought retribution for that threat, instead he had apologised. As Jamie had got up – intent on storming out of the room, he had turned around, with clenched fists, the red mist had him seriously considering going back to take out his anger on the man; but then, as John turned his face away, he had seen the firelight catch on a solitary tear that slipped from his eye – a single tear that should have told Jamie everything he needed to know. John Grey had meant him no harm, the man was ignorant of the feelings and memories his simple touch had unleashed.

The fact that after the event, John had not taken advantage, nor taken revenge in any form for Jamie’s insolence, should have signalled his true intent. Even when Jamie had been transferred to Helwater, he had assumed that John would prey on him there during the quarterly visits, but no, that had not transpired either.

Lord John Grey had always held power over Jamie – not physically, although having watched him in that duel, he realised they would be fairly evenly matched in a sword fight. Yet in all that time, John had not once abused his position.

Not until that argument a year ago – when the red mist had descended once more and Jamie had almost killed him in the stables at Helwater.

After that, the visits had stopped. John had not been to Helwater for over a year – he had not seen him again, not until his brother, the pompous Lord Melton, had him dragged down to London.

_How had things become so damn awkward between them? Maybe he should have explained to John what had triggered his reaction?_

_Perhaps he could tell him now as he lay there insensible to his surroundings?_


	3. A confession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some recollections of past traumatic events - but no explicit details. Anyone who has seen Outlander will know what happened to Jamie - this is what he is recalling.

Resuming his position in the chair near the head of the bed, Jamie looked down at his hands, clasped together as if in prayer, and started to speak. A confession of sorts – for sins committed against him and for those he felt he had committed, albeit against his will.

“John – I need to tell ye something about my past. Something we never talked about. But maybe I shouldha told ye… ye’d have understood me better if I had.”

It was easy to say that now he thought, but he would have rather been flogged again than put voice to those atrocities to anyone, never mind one he had believed at the time to be equally depraved.

“There are others that know some of what happened… but only Claire knows the whole story. She was there - at least at the start.”

Jamie paused to take a drink from the glass of whisky he’d poured himself. It was a fine, well-aged whisky, with deep notes of smoky peat and as the burn crept down his throat and curled into his stomach, the warmth gave him the courage to continue. He was glad that John’s eyes were still closed – whether the man was asleep or not no longer mattered, but he knew he could not finish his story if their eyes were to meet.

“It happened before I went to Paris with Claire. Ye recall us talking o’ Paris? When we talked about books and ye were delighted to have someone to talk to about French novels?”

He picked up the book he had considered reading out loud and briefly considered opening at the point of the ornate bookmark to tell a tale of doomed lovers, but shook his head as he braced himself to share part of his soul with the man who would have given his life for him. He owed him the truth - the reasons for his reluctance to accept his friendship.

“Aye – ye see the true reason I left Scotland and took that voyage across the sea was to escape what had happened. What happened tae me – it was similar to what I think ye went through if I’m no’ mistaken. It was a redcoat - an English officer. So, that’s part o’ why I treated ye the way I did back then, ye wore the same cloth and... ye had the same desires, or so I thought. The bastard ... weel, he was a sadist – evil through and through. He threatened Claire – and ye know what she’s like, even ye as a wee lad stood firm in her defence. Aye, even though a band of fierce Highlanders could ha’ torn ye to pieces as soon as look at ye.”

Jamie smiled at the memory of their first meeting and looked at John once more. He pushed a few loose strands of hair away from the man’s face, contemplating how different he looked now to the boy who’d proudly introduced himself as William Grey all those years ago.

“Aye, ye were a brave wee soldier even back then.”

The sling reminded Jamie that he had broken that same arm, before tying the young Grey to a tree overnight – it must have hurt terribly. As a young lad, he had been prepared to take a stand for the honour of Claire, even though he had only just met her. Jamie thought fondly of the feelings she had provoked in him when he had come to her rescue when they had first met, despite her being a sassenach. Swallowing hard, he muttered a prayer for the safety of his wife and his child by her, before suppressing the thoughts of where Claire was, and how she was faring. Closing his eyes, Jamie dug deeper to seek out darker memories – he needed to continue, he needed to purge himself of the poison eating away at him.

“Randall.” Jamie forced out the name, as if spitting out venom. “That was his name – Captain Jack Randall. He had Claire at his mercy – Christ only knows what the bastard would ha’ done to her- and he made a bargain with me. He offered to let her go in exchange for... having me.”

He took a deep breath as the events of that night returned to him, the sickly scent of lavender strong in his nostrils – despite it not being present in the room. He grabbed hold of his glass of whisky and held it to his nose, inhaling the aroma of alcohol and peat, imagining the spring water tumbling down from the moors. The whisky smelt of home. 

“But he didna just want tae bugger me, oh no – that wasna enough for that bastard." Jamie swallowed hard, forcing the rising bile back down his gullet. "He wanted to own me.”

Jamie glanced up to see if John was reacting to anything he was saying – his breathing seemed to have become faster, and it occurred to Jamie that he was probably hearing what he was saying. However, that no longer troubled him. He wanted John to know. He had to let him understand.

“Ye see, he got in my head – abused me in every way ye could imagine. He made me… react. Damn his soul. He forced my body to become aroused-”

It was that which had damaged Jamie the most – by responding, he believed that he had been made equally guilty of that mortal sin.

“That’s why I couldna bear to have ye touch me as ye did that time – in the prison. It brought it all back. Everything, the shame, the pain and the disgust.”

However, as he found himself tentatively reaching out to rest a hand on John’s arm, Jamie realised that there had been more to his mortification back at Ardsmuir than just the horrors brought back to mind.

“Christ, John, it wasna just that ye see. I feared that if ye’d kept touching me, if ye had not taken yer hand off of me... I may have wanted ye tae …”

“Dear God … no…” muttered John, his face screwed up as if in pain.

Jamie quickly leapt to his feet and carefully leaned over John, not wanting to cause him anymore distress. He wondered if the man was in physical pain, or if his anguish was in response to his words. Maybe he had managed to dredge up more dire memories for John? He gently laid his hand on John’s uninjured arm.

Seeing John’s eyes flickering as if about to open, Jamie came to a decision. As his feelings and thoughts coalesced, becoming all too clear, he chose to slide his hand down John’s arm to take hold of his hand. Jamie was in control and he found that made all the difference. It did not feel wrong – as he slipped his hand under John’s, he could feel the rough calluses on the palm at odds with the long, delicate fingers. His own hands were much larger, and he knew that he could so easily crush the bones of John’s fingers if he wished, but he did not. He had no desire to inflict pain on John, he only wanted to provide comfort and to soothe his friend.

“Hush there – it’s over. Ye’re safe wi’ me. I’ll watch over ye.”

“Jamie?” muttered John, with confusion in his voice. “Is it you?”

“Aye. T'is me.”

“Why are you here?” John asked, his voice cracking. “Are we dead? Am I dead?”

“Neither of us is dead,” replied Jamie, quickly trying to correct John’s assumption. Then it occurred to him why John woke so confused. “Oh, d’ye think that because I’m holding yer hand?”

Bleary-eyed, John tried to decipher the fuzzy images and could make out the russet-coloured hair that could only belong to one person – Jamie Fraser.

“I take it that I’m dying?”

“Why would ye think that?”

“Why confide in me if I am to live? Do you… are you going to kill me?”

John looked to one side at the spare pillows, as if imagining Jamie pressing one to his face to smother him. He sighed in resignation to his fate.

“I’ll no’ kill ye, John. Fer a start, Minerva Grey will string me up if ye dinna survive my watch.”

Jamie gently squeezed John’s hand in reassurance and was pleased to see a smile grace John’s face.

“You make a valid point – I’ve always suspected that in another life, she may have made her living as a ruthless assassin.”

“Aye,” replied Jamie, chuckling gently as he recalled that Minerva's background was not too far removed from John's romantic notions. Putting aside his levity, he composed his features once more and looked John directly in the eye. “Did ye hear what I was trying to tell ye? I wanted ye to know.”

“Yes – dear God, I heard," replied John, realising in that moment that his worst fears were true, that it had not been the vestiges of some awful nightmare, brought on by the fever that he could still feel ravaging his body. "I thought the words were in my head... but the voice was yours.”

John frowned, not wanting to divulge that it would not have been the first time he had heard Jamie’s voice in his dreams – but never before relating such horrific events.

“Why?”

“I told ye, because it was time – time tae be frank. Ye deserved it. There are things I should ha’ told ye a long time ago.”

John shook his head – trying to reconcile what he had heard with the gentle touch of Jamie’s warm hand around his.

“You once said you would kill me… if …” John raised their joined hands from the bed to indicate what was bothering him.

“Aye, but this time it’s me that’s holding yer hand. It’s no’ the same.”

“I need to ask you just one question – that man?” John paused and risked stroking his thumb across Jamie’s knuckles. “Is he dead?”

“Aye.”

“By your hand?”

Jamie just nodded.

“Thank God for that – for I’m in no fit state to exact bloody revenge on your behalf.”


	4. Absolution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More recollections of past assaults - but without any specific details. However, mentions alone can act as triggers - so please proceed with caution.
> 
> The shared traumas are what neither Jamie nor John realised they had in common - but they will help bring them together.

“What about you?” asked Jamie inquisitively, thoughts of bloody revenge now placed in his head, too.

“I don’t understand," replied John, wondering what he was referring to. "What do you mean?”

“Earlier, when ye were tossing and turning … ye said…" Jamie struggled to put into words what he thought he heard. "Ye were cryin’ out fer mercy, John!”

“What … no,” John blanched, looking mortified at what he may have disclosed. “You should not hold a man accountable for utterances in his sleep – whatever you think you heard-“

“Not just what ye said, John,” Jamie held firm to John’s hand despite the other man trying to pull away from him. “I thought ye were goin’ to roll right off the bed – so I took hold of ye from behind and tried to hold ye still, to stop ye doing yerself even more harm.“

Jamie paused to see if John was remembering what had been going through his mind earlier that evening. The only signs were that he’d gone even paler and was looking past him, into the fireplace as if he could not bear Jamie’s gaze.

“The way ye reacted- I ken what must ha’ happened to ye. I'm right, aren't I?”

John started to shake his head – whether in denial of Jamie’s suggestion or in an attempt to dislodge those evidently painful memories.

“Come on – I’ve told ye what happened to me. Tonight, let’s be honest wi’ one another. It’s just us in this room. What we say here, tonight, stays here.”

A slight nod of the head was the only indication that Jamie had surmised correctly.

“Ifrinn!” Jamie muttered, it had been one thing to suspect, another to know for a fact.

“I’ll ask ye again the same question ye asked me. What happened to the man -“

“Men,” whispered John, his voice cracking.

The word was small, quietly spoken and innocuous enough on its own, but in the context of their shared disclosures, it devastated Jamie. He let go of John’s hand in horror – not at his friend, but at what had happened to him. He didn’t realise he was on his feet until he heard the chair crashing to the floor behind him. Breathing harshly, he found himself pacing the room, trying to come to terms with what John had just admitted to him.

“When? When did this happen?” Jamie needed to know – he had to know when this had happened. He wanted to know if it had happened since he had first made the acquaintance of John Grey, or before.

“Why does that matter? You find me even more repugnant now – “ John replied, bitterly regretting that this revelation would change him forever in the eyes of the Scotsman.

“No – not ye, mo charaid,” said Jamie, softening his voice to try to reassure John. “Please, tell me when this happened. Did I know ye then?”

“We’d met but once at that time. It happened a year after you left me tied to that damn tree.”

“But, ye were still only a lad-“ Jamie was horrified.

“Seventeen – old enough for my brother to have me serve in his regiment.”

“Christ, John, nae wonder ye reacted as ye did when I accused ye of preying on young boys.”

“Oh dear God, such irony,” snorted John, shaking his head with despair. “If only we had known more of each other’s pasts, perhaps we would not have wounded each other so badly with ill-chosen words.”

Jamie thought back to that fateful day in the stables at Helwater – they had both been angry and had lashed out at one another. He had come very close to killing John, the damage his knuckles had sustained from their impact with the stable wall serving served as a painful reminder of what could have happened if his fist had connected with John’s face. He had split the planks of wood, splinters had embedded themselves in his skin - he would have broken John's skull.

To fill the awkward silence that had descended over the room, as both men wrestled with their memories of that day, Jamie set the chair to rights, glad that he’d not broken it. He checked the fire, adding a few more lumps of coal to keep it alight, before lighting a fresh candle from the smouldering stub of one that was sputtering out on the mantelpiece.

Jamie was about to sit back on the chair but changed his mind and sat on the bed itself. He reached out and took hold of one of John’s hands, clasping it in both of his.

“Do ye ken who they were? The men who-”

“No,” answered John abruptly, although he had his suspicions. “It was dark, I never did see their faces. But I knew they were soldiers of my brother’s regiment. They barely spoke – just enough to let me know that it was a warning.”

“Why?” Jamie was appalled. He’d been fully aware of the brutality of the redcoats when it came to how they treated those who stood against them, but to attack one of their own was unforgivable. The younger brother of their commanding officer no less. He could not fathom why.

“Fer the love of God, why?”

John looked Jamie in the eye - he was so much closer now he was sitting on the bed next to him. He weighed up in his head whether to be completely honest – but it seemed that he was compelled to reveal the unpleasant facts. He wished his head did not still ache so much from the blow he’d sustained in the duel – he feared that he was not being as discrete as Hal would wish him to be.

“I had betrayed the regiment by revealing military details to a group of highlanders the year before-“

“Christ!” Jamie blanched as it struck him that the event at the Carryarick Pass he’d earlier recalled with fondness, that had been the very event that had precipitated the brutal assault on the young John Grey.

“At the time, my brother had made sure that the I was not disciplined too harshly for my indiscretion. But word got out. And to compound matters, his perceived nepotism did not serve me well.”

Jamie could imagine that John's fellow soldiers would have made his life hell. Perhaps that was why he had been such a benevolent commander when he attained the rank of major. 

“Did ye report them?”

“How could I? Even if I thought I recognised some of their voices, there was no proof and … what good would it have done?”

“Did ye tell yer brother.”

John raised his eyebrows and laughed out loud.

“Yes, more fool me – he told me that I was not to mention it to anyone.” John recalled, having grown used to having his brother’s disapproval driven home at every opportunity that arose. His exiles to Aberdeen after his father’s death and then to Ardsmuir all contrived by Hal, ostensibly for his own good, but in truth to safeguard the reputation of the Grey family.

“So he did not take action himself, as commanding officer?”

“He made it clear that enough shame had been visited upon the family as it was and that he had fought hard to reinstate his regiment and that he would not allow me to destroy it. If I was to speak of the matter to anyone, he would have to dismiss my accusations as exaggerations of the boisterous interactions between men when deployed in duty.”

“So these men – who would attack a young boy – nothing happened to them?”

“Nothing. But from that day on I always carried a dagger hidden within my coat and never slept more than an hour or two a night.”

Jamie let go of John’s hand and sprung once more to his feet. He could not keep still, not as the ugly truths revealed themselves. He growled angrily and looked around for something to break, something to hit, to destroy with his fists, his rage having grown as he imagined what John had gone through – not the same as what he had suffered, but they had both ended up damaged by the sins committed against them that they had kept concealed, unspoken. But he realised that although violence to furniture or masonry may well vent his emotions, it would do nothing to make John feel any better than he did. Pausing briefly in front of the bed, he caught John’s gaze, and the look in his eyes confirmed another of his suspicions– John had never confided these details to anyone else since he had spoken to his brother and suffered rejection. And, like Jamie himself, he felt guilty for what had happened to him.

“Ye feel responsible for what befell ye, don’t ye?”

“If only I had been stronger – “ argued John, becoming agitated. His feverish mind taunted him with different outcomes - if only he had stood firm and not revealed military intelligence that night at Carryarick – or if he had been more alert to danger while wandering about the outskirts of the camp, believing no harm could come to him as he took a piss just beyond the sentry post.

“Ye were just a lad!” shouted Jamie, angry at his own role in what had befallen his friend.

“It was retribution – no army takes kindly to traitors who would betray their movements and possibly cost lives-“

“I gave ye nae choice in that – ye thought yer actions were the only thing that would save a woman from a brutal assault!“ Again, the tragic course of events unfolded in Jamie’s mind as he recommenced his pacing. “Christ, John, the attack ye imagined ye were sparing Claire from? That was what ye suffered yerself as a consequence!”

Jamie was struggling to control his fury – the results of their toying with a young redcoat had damaged the man who would later become his friend. And to think that he had accused John of preying on young boys.

Watching Jamie stride about the room as if he was a caged beast was making John’s head spin. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, coughing as the air caught on his dry throat. Tears had sprung to his eyes as the pain and hurt from a time he had tried so hard to banish from his memories came back in waves, crashing down on him.

A quiet sob alerted Jamie and, spinning around to cease his pacing, he could tell that his restlessness was causing even more distress – to both of them. He sat back down on the edge of the bed and took hold of John’s hand once more. He brought it to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to the knuckles.

“I swear to ye – were I ever to come across any of those cowardly bastards, I would make them pay for what they did.”

“Dear God, what has become of us?” John smiled weakly as he placed his other hand on top of Jamie’s and feeling no resistance. “From sworn enemies to men who would seek revenge on the other’s behalf.”

“Aye.”

They were certainly not enemies anymore. But as they held each other’s hands and gaze, John dared to hope that maybe they were more than friends.


	5. Acceptance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie starts to accept that John is more than a friend.

Jamie chuckled deep and let his lips twitch into a slight smile. As his fingers wrapped around John’s wrist he could feel his pulse quicken the moment he’d kissed the man’s hand. If he was honest with himself - as the evening dictated - he could feel his own heartbeat begin to quicken. By letting down barriers that he had steadfastly maintained throughout the time he had known John, he had come to realise that sharing comfort and affection with someone who had been through so many similar experiences to himself was a relief.

There was an irresistible force about John that drew him in – like a moth to a flame. Despite his Catholic upbringing and staunchly held opinions on matters of perversion, he could not resist his attraction to John. In contrast to Claire, with her fire and fury that burnt as often as it warmed, John’s company offered the balm of undying loyalty and affection. What he had felt for Claire was passion – all-consuming and spontaneous, whereas he was coming to terms with the feelings he had always had for John, which had been tainted by memories of Wentworth. John was not Claire – but neither was he Randall. What John and Claire had in common was a love for him that stood the test of time – only John’s was unconditional, whereas Claire had on occasion flown into angry rages at him for not always being the man she wanted him to be.

Looking awkwardly from their joined hands to John’s face, open and trusting, Jamie felt as if he was coming home. The fact that he should think this so far from Lallybroch and the Highlands did not fail to bemuse him. However, he could not deny that this man had the capacity to understand him better than anyone else he had ever met.

“Ye ken, I never realised there’s so much we have in common. Not just the books and the chess – more than that.”

Jamie stopped to consider the time they had enjoyed together since their return to the city, before that fated visit to the damn club where Twelvetrees had insulted John. He had enjoyed their trip to Newmarket for the racing, then going to see that play and he had taken pleasure in eating out together – no wonder that bastard had referred to them as ‘particular friends’. In spite of the ugly connotations that man had bestowed on the term, he found himself happy to be such a close friend of John.

“Aye, but it had never occurred to me that we’d both been assaulted by bastards wearing the uniform of yer king-“

“Your monarch as well, Jamie, at least while you’re in England. Please do not voice such opinions in public, at least not until I am ready to deal with the consequences.” John reprimanded Jamie gently before continuing to say: “I have been fortunate to have known men who wore the scarlet tunic with honour.”

“So have I, but ye were one o’ the finest,“ admitted Jamie. He thought back to all the ways in which John had proved himself to be a man of honour, including the time when as governor of Ardsmuir, he had angrily refused to use his sword on Jamie, stating in no uncertain terms that he would never take the life of an unarmed prisoner.

“I always tried to live up to the memory of one who bravely died wearing that uniform.” John spoke softly – his eyes becoming bright with unshed tears.

“Hector?” asked Jamie cautiously, stroking the back of John’s hand to encourage him to talk.

With a start, John looked up, he had never expected to hear Hector’s name on Jamie’s lips. Then it came back to him that on each occasion when he had referred to his first love, Jamie had nearly killed him. But this was the first time that he had heard his lover’s name spoken with respect from Jamie. It warmed his heart and encouraged him to speak further. He rubbed his thumb over the sapphire on his finger, something he found himself doing whenever he thought of his tragically lost first love.

“Yes. It pleases me that you remember.”

“Aye, I recall that night in the prison and then again… tonight, ye spoke of him while ye werena quite awake. Ye were talking to him.”

“Oh.” John swallowed hard, wondering what he had shared in his unguarded mutterings. “I sincerely hope I said nothing to discomfort you.“

For a fleeting moment, Jamie considered telling John that he had been calling out for his deceased lover to reach from beyond the veil to take him away with him. But, whilst John’s recovery was by no means certain – not while the inflamed wounds still seeped poison into his blood – he had no intention of telling John that he had been seeking the embrace of death. It was selfish, but he had no desire to put thoughts of death into his friend’s mind – he had done his utmost to keep him alive and he was not prepared to let the man give up and fade away. A traitorous thought snuck up on him – _stay away, Hector, dinnae tempt him to leave me, not now._

“Nae,” replied Jamie shook his head. “ All I could make out was the name, ye were mumbling all manner o’ nonsense.”

One look at John’s face reassured him that there was no need for him to trouble the man with what he had heard, The more he pondered on how John had cried out so fervently, the more it reinforced the uncomfortable reality that he had truly loved Hector – just as he had loved Claire and would have wanted to die if she were lost to him in that way. At Helwater, he had furiously argued with John that love between two men could never equate to the love between a man and a woman, yet, in his feverish semi-consciousness, John had proven that argument totally invalid. And, at the end of the day, John was in his current condition out of love – there was no denying his motives in challenging Twelvetrees. He had been prepared to give his life to spare Jamie – what more proof could he demand?

Turning to look at John, he was concerned to see him staring off into the distance, as if looking through the walls and beyond.

“John? Are ye alright?”

“He was so young - barely twenty years of age. After that…” John bit his lower lip as the tears spilt down his cheek for the memory of one he had loved so dearly, viciously cut to pieces on that bloody field. He had been recalling what had transpired on the field of Culloden and his brother’s insistence that he see Hector’s mutilated body, only to drag him away from it the moment he had bent over the body to press one last kiss to those lips.

Reaching out to brush the tears from John’s face, Jamie could imagine what was going through his friend’s mind – the scenes from that battlefield had scarred his soul, too.

“How do ye feel in yerself?” asked Jamie, concerned that the way in which the conversation had gone was causing even greater upset. 

“On any other occasion I would claim to be fine, but not while we’re sharing honest revelations with one another.” John closed his eyes briefly and scrunched up his forehead. “I feel as if my head is on fire. Perhaps my stepfather was right after all? He always warned me that I would burn in hell …”

Jamie growled in the back of his throat, surprised at his own resentment towards John’s stepfather. His anger doubled by the fact that there had been a time when he would have said the same thing, but no longer wished that fate on John. Looking at the glazed, slightly out of focus gaze, he wondered if John was succumbing to the fever once more.

“I believe there’s quite a queue fer hell and ye’re by no means near the front o’ that line. However, if it were a line of brave fools who would risk their lives for the sake of others- ”

“I must be dreaming if you are the one to accuse me of self-sacrifice!” John teased, forcing a smile. “I think you would be pushing in front of me in such a line.”

“Ye’re no’ dreaming.”

“Are you certain? For it appears to me that you are still holding my hand.” John frowned as he lifted their hands and brushed his lips across his own knuckles, picking up the faint taste of whisky. “And for some reason I believe that you kissed me - ”

“I did. Does that bother ye – that and the fact that I am sae close?” Jamie asked.

“Should it not be me asking you that question?”

“If ye were too, I’d say no – it feels verra comfortable here. And you?”

“You know the answer to that – as long as it were to cause you no distress, I would have you as close to me as humanly possible. But there, sitting at my side? You are indeed my hawk, watching over me, keeping me safe.”

John leaned back, pressing his head against the intricately carved wooden headboard, wincing in pain.

“Dear God, my head. It …it’s…”

“Ye took a nasty knock tae yer skull. Shook yer brains up I wouldna be surprised. Is there anything I can get fer ye? I can call wee Tom?”

“No – please do not call him, he will only fret. But I must admit, I am dreadfully thirsty and I … I desperately need to empty my bladder.”

“I can help ye with both, if ye wish?” Jamie recalled how he had needed Claire to help him take a piss in the days after Randall had broken his hand so very badly. The thought of doing the same for John caused him far less anxiety than he would have thought.

Reluctantly breaking the contact he had been enjoying, Jamie got up from the bed. On the small, walnut side table was a pitcher of water that Tom had brought up with the decanter of whisky, obviously not knowing a Scotsman would never adulterate a good whisky. He poured some into his empty tumbler and then leant over the bed to raise John’s head so he could safely take a drink from the glass he held to his lips.

“Thank you,” said John, the tip of his tongue gathering up the drops that spilt from the side of his mouth. “I had not realised my throat was so parched.“

“Ye’ve been talking too much. The water should help wi’ the headache too, that’s what Claire would say…” Jamie trailed off, realising again how his wife’s words kept coming to him as he appraised John’s condition. It felt as if she were giving him her blessing, approving of his care and affection for Lord John.

“Um – I don’t suppose that…” John trailed off, glancing downwards as if hoping that Jamie would correctly interpret his need.

“Nae problem. I’ll fetch the pot if ye can-“ Jamie pointed in the general direction of John’s prick.

“That would be very much appreciated, and I shall do my best not to piss on you.”

In the end, Jamie helped John to stand up, bracing him against his own body and holding the chamber pot in position. It was awkward, for many reasons, yet they managed to help John relieve himself. A surreptitious glance at the contents showed no sign of blood which was a relief to them both.

Settling John back down on the edge of the bed, Jamie put the pot near the door. He could have rung for someone to remove it and replace it with a fresh one, but he had no desire to have anyone else in the room.

“How does that feel?” Jamie asked as he sat down next to John, pressed up close to him – ostensibly in case he were to fall, but also because he found the closeness agreeable.

He could see that John had unfastened his shirt, revealing his bare chest and was pressing his hand against the bandages, probing as if to locate the stitches. Jamie reached out to take John’s hand away and resisted the urge to lean across to place a kiss where the sword had come so close to taking his life.

“Awful – as if someone has tried to butcher me-“

Jamie laughed out loud, recalling Minnie’s description of the surgeon’s lack of skills.

“I do not think my injuries are a cause for laughter,“ protested John indignantly, having enough dread of surgeons without being mocked for his fears.

“Nae – it’s just that Minnie, I mean the Duchess, she said wished the surgeon had the skill of a butcher as then they’d ha’ caused less damage.”

“Agreed.” John nodded his head. Looking around he spied the tray on the small side table. “I take it that is whisky?”

Jamie shook his head as he glowered at John

“Ye’re no’ to have any – Minnie would skin me alive if ye did.”

“Well, she’s not here. If you do not tell her, neither shall I.”

Leaning past Jamie, close enough that he could feel the warmth from his skin, John lifted the glass of water and drained it before topping it up with a very large measure of whisky. Ignoring Jamie’s look of disapproval, he took a sip, hummed in satisfaction, and then sat back, leaning into Jamie’s solid body as he took another longer draft. He then passed the glass to Jamie, indicating that he, too should take another drink.

“What Minnie does not know need not concern her. Where is she anyway?”

“Gone out for the evening – with yer brother.” Jamie sighed as he took a substantial drink himself, thinking that the more he drank, the less that John could imbibe. Absently, he wrapped a free arm around John’s shoulders to keep him upright, but inadvertently pulling him even closer. “Some occasion at an embassy that requires their attendance.”

“They won’t return until well after the sun rises – those tedious events last all night. “

Jamie put down the whisky and then reached out to stroke John’s face with fondness.

“I’m verra glad ye’re no’ dead.”

“So am I. But – why? I’d have thought it would be a relief to you – to get me and my family out of your life for good.”

John’s voice was sad, with an edge of bitterness that did not go unnoticed. Jamie squeezed his shoulders and as he relaxed his hold, he stroked a thumb across John’s collar bone, where his shirt had fallen open.

“I’m glad ye’re still alive, because I’ve been a damn fool. I’ve denied ye the affection ye’ve craved for fear of committing a sin that would damn my soul. All the while failing to accept my own feelings fer ye.”

With Jamie’s fingers caressing the bare skin of his neck, John felt his heart beat faster.

“Feelings?” asked John, incredulous at the possibility that Jamie felt for him in any other way than reluctant friendship at most. “I know you have behaved impeccably despite your distaste for what I represent – and for that I thank you. Pray tell, though, what are these feelings you speak of?”


	6. Revelations

**Chapter 6**

“My feelings?” Jamie sighed and rolled his eyes, looking to the elaborate plaster moulding on the ceiling, as if seeking inspiration. “I dinna want to give name to them, not yet. But I can tell ye that I nae longer believe it’s a sin to comfort someone ye care for, tae hold their hand or hold them close. It costs my mortal soul nothing to speak kind words.”

“I am thankful for this,” replied John, leaning further into Jamie’s embrace. “However, I am not sure I deserve your kind words – not after what I said the last time we met at Helwater.”

As they sat in silence, on the edge of the bed, Jamie clutching John to his side, their thighs pressed close together, thoughts stirred in their minds of raised voices and hurtful words spoken in anger.

Memories, both distant and recent, collided in John’s aching head.

“Your reactions, at Helwater - as soon as I saw that look in your eyes, I knew then. Your righteous fury…” John took a deep breath as he recalled the murderous rage in Jamie’s eyes at the time. “That blow would’ve killed me if – “

_“ - you hadn’t ducked.” “-you hadn’t pulled the punch.”_

“I’m verra sorry,” Jamie apologised, he had never been more grateful for his fist missing its intended target.

“No – it was my fault, I provoked you. But I had been so angry – you as much as accused me of preying on young boys, an offence that I abhor. Not only that, but you refused to accept that a man could love another man in the way you could love a woman-”

“I was wrong. I ken that now,” stated Jamie adamantly, having witnessed the look of adoration on John’s face he could no longer doubt that. “All I could think of was what I’d been told about sodomites - “

“And about that bastard who had abused you!“

“Aye,” admitted Jamie, mightily relieved that his mind no longer placed John Grey in the same category of perverted individuals as Randall. Looking back with a clear mind, he acknowledged that Randall was not just a sodomite, but an abuser of men, women and children alike – he was a predator. John had only ever once seemed to be on the verge of taking advantage – just that one time when he had presumed to take Jamie’s hand, to stroke it gently, such a minor indiscretion to have triggered such a threatening response:

_If you do not take your hand off me, I shall kill you._

He had meant every word at the time.

“What I said to you, in the stables,” whispered John, daring to look Jamie in the eye. He clenched his teeth as his words came back to haunt him.

“Please believe me,” beseeched John, plaintively. “I never meant to imply I would cause you pain, only that if I were to take you to my bed, I would give you pleasure – such pleasure that you would cry out. But the way you reacted – I knew then that someone had made you scream by taking you against your will. I was appalled at what I had said.”

Shamefully, John recalled stumbling out of the stable building and collapsing behind a farm wagon. His prick engorged, aroused by the mere thought of taking Fraser to his bed. His body had stubbornly refused to catch up with his mind that was reeling with disgust. He had had no option but to open his fly, thrust his hand into his breeches and bring himself roughly to completion with no thought of pleasure, only of release. Afterwards, he had felt so nauseated that he had retched violently, spewing the half-digested contents of his stomach onto the soiled straw of the stable yard.

That had been over a year ago, long before the revelations of the evening.

“I ken ye didna mean me harm – but then all I saw in my head was him.”

“Yet now, here we are, sitting next to each other on my bed.” John could not help but smile shyly – he would never have believed that he would ever be so close to the object of his desire, Jamie holding him close, their legs touching, amongst the crumpled sheets.

“Aye – we’ve come a long way since then.” Jamie smiled as he welcomed the feelings bubbling up in his chest. “However, ye should get back into bed, John – ye’re trembling.”

“Not with cold, I can assure you.” John blushed, blood flowing to his cheeks, but not from the fever. “Tell me, are you intending to spend the entire night in my room, Mr Fraser?”

“Minnie made me promise not to leave yer side until she sent word they were back.”

“If they are attending a soirée at one of the embassies I can assure you they will not return until morning.” John paused to look at the spindly chair, that looked barely large enough to accommodate Jamie’s robust figure. “I cannot possibly allow you to sleep on that chair.”

“I can sleep anywhere –“ asserted Jamie.

“Then why not sleep here?” suggested John. “In the bed. With me. There is plenty of room and I swear to you that -“

“Dinnae make promises yer body may not be able to keep fer ye.” Jamie shook his head in gentle rebuke.

“Of course,” John replied, disappointed, but not surprised. “Well there are spare pillows and –“

“I didna say I wasna going to take ye up on yer offer,” interrupted Jamie, with a raised eyebrow, pleased that John had made no assumptions, giving control to him.

“Oh, I see. If… it may be prudent to lock the door. I would not do if any of the household, heaven forbid my nephews-“

“Agreed – there’s a key?” Jamie frowned as he noticed there was no key in the lock.

“I keep one in the cabinet – top drawer.”

As Jamie fished around in the drawer to find the key, he noticed a small bottle of oil. Surreptitiously he uncorked it and cautiously sniffed the contents. He was beyond grateful it was not lavender oil and slipped the bottle into the pocket of his borrowed waistcoat.

After helping John into the bed and locking the door - leaving the key in place to prevent anyone else opening the door from the other side - Jamie turned around and began to undress.

“You need not undress completely, if you’d be more comfortable-“John offered, watching on as Jamie sat down to remove his shoes and stockings.

“Nae – I’ll keep my shirt on. But any more will be too hot fer me – especially with ye creating more heat than a bread oven.”

Jamie stripped down to his shirt before carefully folding and placing the rest of his garments on the chair. He folded back the sheets and blankets and slid beneath them to lie next to John.

“Dear God, please tell me that I am not imagining this?” John could not help but grin broadly as the mattress sunk down beside him and he felt Jamie reach out to hold him once more.

“Nae – this is fer real.”

Jamie lay on his side, facing John and found that neither proximity nor state of undress were unduly bothering him. He wrapped an arm around John’s waist, surprised at the firmness – the man had always looked so soft.

“I dinnae want ye rolling out of the bed now, do I,” explained Jamie. Although he doubted he needed to provide a reason for his closeness, he could feel John trying to lean away from his embrace. “And ye can stay exactly where ye are, there’s nae need to scoot over to one side – I’m no’ that big.”

“Really?” quizzed John, his eyes widening as he felt Jamie press closer to his side. Not wanting to draw attention to the hard flesh pressing into his thigh, he smiled as he realised that Jamie’s unnamed feelings were making themselves physically evident.

“Aye – there’s plenty o’ room here fer the two of us. “

“Jamie, I need to ask you a question.” John turned his head to look at his bed partner, hoping fervently that his need for honesty between them would not drive Jamie away. “ I pray that it will cause no offence, but should it do so – please spare me your fist until I have more laudanum on hand.”

“I swear to ye, I shall ne’er raise a fist to ye in anger again.” To reinforce his words, Jamie gently caressed John’s face, tracing a path over his temple and along his jaw, down his neck and around his chin, feeling the start of stubble around his mouth. “Ye have my word. Ask yer question – altho’ I may decline to answer.”

“Your aversion to the act of sodomy,” whispered John, hoping that if spoken quietly it would be less upsetting. “Is that the reason you found my advances at Ardsmuir so repugnant?“

To reassure John that he was not offended, Jamie hooked a leg over John’s, letting his ankle lock with John’s holding him securely in place. The feeling of the lean body next to his not unpleasant at all. If anything, the long, pale limbs, dark hair and full lips reminded him of the type of women he’d always found most attractive. There was a beauty to John that he had always been aware of, but only now was he allowing himself to truly appreciate.

“Aye. I ken so – not just because of what was done tae me.” Jamie breathed out slowly, thinking of how to remain true to himself, whilst not being hurtful to John. “But also, because my faith tells me that what ye have probably engaged in whilst in this very bed, that is a mortal sin..“

“So – would I be correct in assuming that it is the act of sodomy that constitutes a sin in your beliefs?” asked John, hoping to understand just what Jamie may find agreeable if his suspicions were correct and that they were not sharing the bed just as sleeping companions.

Jamie squirmed slightly, uncomfortable with the repetition of that word, yet at the same time glad that John was discussing it with him. He nodded in assent.

“Aye…” drawled Jamie, wondering just where this discussion was leading. He could feel the warmth of John’s breath on his hand that remained in place, cradling his face. He could tell that this was not an easy matter for John to talk about either, no doubt partly due to the violence of his past reactions.

“I see. Again, another question, while the truce appears to be holding. Since what I do in my bed seems to be worthy of discussion, let's talk about yours, sir.” John swallowed hard as he took the plunge and tackled Jamie’s long held beliefs. “I find it quite impossible to believe that you never once enjoyed the use of your wife's mouth?”

“I dinna see what that has to do wi' anything!” responded Jamie indignantly, despite memories of Claire’s soft mouth around his prick stirring it into life.

“That's what I thought,” said John, nodding his head smugly. “While the law of man may overlook that particular transgression committed in your own marriage bed, the law of the Church is quite clear. You, Mr. Fraser, are as guilty of sodomy as I am.”

Jamie spluttered – shocked at John’s revelation. He had never thought – but then again, it was never talked of openly. And it had never felt in the least bit sinful.

“I never took ye fer a Papist, John,” grunted Jamie, irritated at John for apparently trying to prove he knew more of his faith than he did. “Why are ye so interested in the Church’s opinion on the matter?”

“When it’s a criminal offence punishable by life imprisonment or death, it is very much in my interests to know as much as possible about the act that could result in a noose about my neck.”

Jamie sighed and shook his head solemnly, it had not occurred to him that all of his adult life, John had that threat hanging over him. It explained so much about his behaviour in public, so much more circumspect that he was when he was alone in the company of Jamie.

“Where are ye going with this discussion, John?”

“I understand that you have reservations, that you fear your soul in danger… “ John paused to take a deep breath, hoping he was not making an assumption that would find him face down on the floor of his own bedroom, with a broken nose and crushed ribs. “But, whilst we are equally damned in the eyes of the Church… that offer of making you scream in pleasure still stands. We need do nothing that you find distasteful. If nothing else, your ghosts may be put to rest if you were to find pleasure in the company of a man.”

Jamie thought about what John was proposing and pondered the merits. He was attracted to John and could not deny that. Even damp with sweat, his eyes overly bright and his hair a tangled mess on the pillow, the way he looked upon Jamie, with unbridled love and passion, an honesty that had never been anywhere in the vicinity of Randall. That was what swayed the balance in the direction of taking a risk. That and the feelings that were warming his heart – trust coupled with desire and a need to act on these while the opportunity existed.

Turning John’s head so he faced him on the pillow, Jamie framed his face in one hand and leant forward. He could smell the whisky and breathed deep as he moved closer to let their mouths meet. Slowly, he felt their lips meet at the same time and felt the tip of John’s tongue as it slid along the crease where his own lips met. Opening up, to seal their mouths together, their bodies pressed closer, the hard planes of each other’s bodies fitting together as Jamie pulled John onto his side and pressed into him, moving his knees apart slide a leg between his thighs.

“What… what are you doing, Jamie?” gasped John, feeling their arousals rubbing against one another.

“I havena a bloody clue – so if ye’d be sae good as tae show me…”

“Let me …”

John slid his hands under Jamie’s shirt and detected only the slightest of hesitations.

“Is this alright?” asked John as he pulled the shirt up and over Jamie’s head. If this were to be the only time he would have the man in his bed, he wanted to feel all of him.

“Aye – you too.” Jamie replied helping John to remove his shirt as well, taking care not to take the bandages with it.

Feeling skin against skin, from lips to ankles and all places in between was almost more than John could bear and from the intake of breath he heard from Jamie, the feeling was mutual.

It had been a long time since Jamie had been pressed so close to a naked body – even his encounter at Lallybroch before he had surrendered to arrest, that had been nothing like this. He had been ashamed of what he had done with Mary McNab – but this was different. He was in the arms of someone who cared for him deeply, who would do him no wrong, and he genuinely believed that all John wished for him, in his bed, was pleasure.

Jamie slid an arm under John’s body to pull him close. Knowing full well how to kiss, he took control again, ravishing John’s mouth and taking pleasure in doing so – not so different from kissing a lass, although he felt he could be more demanding in the knowledge that John could respond just as forcefully. Separating briefly to allow both men to take a much-needed breath, Jamie raised an eyebrow as he smiled.

“Are you sure about this?” asked John, tentatively, despite his swollen lips evidence for the surety of Jamie’s motives.

“Aye, as long as we dinna– “ Jamie frowned, even though he trusted John.

“There are other ways,” John smiled as he sought to reassure Jamie. “I take it you found the oil?”

“Aye – I shouldha known ye’d have seen that,” smirked Jamie. “It’s under your pillow.”

John grinned broadly and fished the vial of olive oil out from its hiding place. Dribbling some onto his fingers he reached down to grasp hold of Jamie’s impressive cock and began to stroke – slowly at first until the grunts of frustration and calls for ‘more’ and ‘faster’ became loud enough that he feared Tom would hear them from the lower landing, where he was no doubt waiting patiently to be called.

“Hush,” muttered John as he pressed his mouth to Jamie’s to swallow the sounds of pleasure.

“Christ, John, what are ye doin’ to me?” mumbled Jamie desperate for more. John was doing things with his long, strong fingers that he had never experienced before and even though he suspected they were sinful, he had no intention of regretting a moment. 

John smiled as he let his fingers slide back, pressing close, yet never too far, never so close to Jamie’s opening as to give him cause to fear he would break his promise.

Then he took both of their cocks in one hand and urged Jamie to wrap his larger hand around his own, the sensations familiar to John, but infused with the joy that it was Jamie he was sharing them with – that they were breathing faster, inhaling each other’s breath as their gasps became uneven and more erratic. Staring into each other’s eyes, the candlelight shining in the blues of storms and sapphires, wanting to see the moment they reached that point where thoughts ceased to exist and all was pure, unadulterated pleasure.

It came too soon, was over too soon – despite the aching in their groins for completion. As they rolled onto their backs, hands clasped and eyes shut, they shared a moment of bliss as their breathing slowly returned to normal.

“Ye didna’ make me scream,” chuckled Jamie as he caught his breath.

“Not this time,” responded John, the warmth in his belly giving him the courage to say what was going through his mind. “Wait until I am fully fit.”

Jamie did not reply out loud, but he thought that he could do that – give this very special man another chance to prove his claim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to all who've left kudos and comments - very much appreciated.
> 
> Also, encouragement from those who know who they are.
> 
> And credit must be given to MistressPandora for a few choice lines where John explains to Jamie precisely what constitutes sodomy.


End file.
